"'Tis peat he means—a very good form of warmth—yet I doubt for the cooking."
"Barbara would have made shift with it. Oh, mother, what shall we do without her?"
"I cannot guess yet."
"To think of all new servants—all new—but that horrid old Kek!"
Mrs. Malherb smiled.
"Kekewich is a sort of skeleton at life's feast. The sour truth and nothing but the truth he utters. Yet truth's a tonic, and your father knows it."
"Truth is often very impertinent—especially as Kek tells it. If any other man spoke to father as he does, he would soon be measuring his length on the ground."
"It shows my husband's marvellous judgment that Kekewich never angers him."
"To me the man is merely a piece of earth animated. Such stuff would never have grown a good cabbage, so some wicked fairy took it and made Kek. I'm sure he'll be a wet blanket on hope, and, according to father, the mists are wet blankets enough up there."
"Kekewich suffers much pain of body, and it makes him harsh. He is an honest man, and your father gets good out of him. That is enough for us. He is at least the soul of common sense."